by Ashley Jade
I am so angry...so fucking angry inside...I can feel my entire body stewing and seething with rage.
I expect him to either move out of the way or block it and toss it back at me like I probably deserve...but he doesn't.
He stands tall as it hits him, let's it break and shatter against him, and remains indestructible...just like always.
I hate him for it. Nothing can penetrate him...nothing gets under his skin...nothing causes him to break.
He only became stronger while I became weaker when we were apart.
He wipes the glass off his suit, ignoring the cuts that are now on his hands and the fragmented pieces I can see digging into his new wounds and takes a step forward.
I do as well but then he speaks. “No. There's glass all over the place, you'll end up hurting yourself.”
“No more than you already have,” I say, gesturing to the bandaged wound of my own.
For the first time since I've been here, I see the faintest trace of an emotion other than anger in his eyes. “I didn't do that to you, Lou-Lou.”
I know he didn't. I don't even need the affirmation dripping in utmost sincerity to confirm it. Ricardo would never physically hurt me, unless I wanted him to—my wounds from him are all emotional. But still, I enjoy making him think I would think that about him...because he's clearly not moved by anything else...so I'll use it to my advantage.
Do you really want to be this bitter, Lou-Lou?—my mind questions.
Yes—it dulls the pain. Or rather, it bounces the hurt I'm feeling onto him. Where it belongs.
I'm rubber and he's motherfucking glue...if only for a moment.
“How are you feeling?” he then questions, taking another step.
I back up, not wanting to be in his atmosphere, afraid I'll get sucked in. “Imprisoned...you?”
He sighs and lifts his hand to most likely run it along his jaw like he usually does when he's frustrated, but looks down at the glass that's embedded it in and thinks better of it. “I meant your head.”
When I open my mouth to give him another smart-ass reply, he says, “Your memory, Lou-Lou. Do you remember anything from last night?”
“Sure,” I tell him, moving to sit on the bed. “I remember going to class—”
“I heard about that. I'm proud—”
I cut him off with the most fake, yet sweetest smile I can muster. “I remember my boyfriend meeting me in the parking lot after class.” When I see his eyes harden I continue. “His name is Atticus, by the way. And he's really smart, smart enough to teach other people things.”
I watch as his hands clench, crushing the glass into his skin and I smile wider.
“Anyway, we met in the parking lot after I got out of class so we could meet up for our date at the bar since it was Friday night. We usually spend Friday nights with one another.”
I give him a wink. “As I'm sure you already know by now, I was staying with Momma...and well—”
I pause for dramatic effect and bite my lip innocently. “It's just not very lady like to ride your boyfriend's big fat cock like the stallion he is when you're a guest in someone's house...so we usually screwed in the back of his pickup truck under the stars on Friday nights after a few drinks.”
It all happens so fast, I barely even have time to register him throwing the dresser next to him clear across the room before he's coming at me like a bull. His anger is so potent that I seriously wonder if he's going to fuck me to death, or simply make me beg him not to kill me right before he does.
Too bad for him, I won't be begging...I'll be enjoying every second of him putting me out of my misery.
He grabs me by my shoulders and shakes me. “Listen to me and listen good. Be a bitch all you want, because we both know you're fucking great at it...but do not ever fucking lie straight to my face again. Do you hear me?”
“I'm not lying.”
His grip tightens so hard I flinch. “Atticus isn't your boyfriend.”
“Yes he—”
He laughs menacingly. “No he isn't. One, because his name wasn't even Atticus to begin with. And two, because he's dead.”
He takes a step back, looking like he's trying his hardest to restrain himself. “And the only kind of sex he was planning on having with you? Was the kind where you were roofied and passed the hell out in the backseat of his truck. The guy was a scumbag, Lou-Lou. He wasn't the good guy you thought he was.”
I open my mouth to inquire if that's the real reason I'm here—because of everything he just told me, but he turns around and heads for the door and my anger with him brews again.
“Guess I misjudged the both of you then, huh, Mr. DeLuca? Tell me, how many men did you murder in cold blood in that basement earlier? How many lives did you take while they begged and pleaded with you not to? And exactly how long did it take you to turn into the exact replica of the man you once despised?”
“Lou-Lou,” he grinds out, low and deadly.
“What, Mr. DeLuca? What else do you need from me? Want me to bend over and take it like a good girl like I did for him so many times I lost count after he conducted his business? Or do you want me to drop down to my knees and suck your dick right down to the balls so I can show you how grateful I am that you saved me from another monster last night? Because if that's the case? Don't fucking plan on my participation...because it's not happening. Unless you're so far gone now that you'll take something from me that I'm no longer willing to give you.”
“I told you a long time ago that I would never do that to you, Lou-Lou and I meant it.” His voice drops to a whisper. “You're not a prisoner here. Seeing as you're no longer disoriented and you're back to your regular charming self, you're allowed to walk around the mansion. I'll make sure you have whatever you need and want. There's plenty of shit for you to do to keep yourself occupied...as long as it's not outside.”
“I don't—”
He bangs his fist into the door frame. “And take that goddamn uniform off like I told you to.”
“No.”
“Lou-Lou—”
“Where's Emilio, Ricardo?” I ask, effectively cutting him off.
His back is turned, but I can see the muscles in his neck and shoulders tense. “Not here.”
An alarming, spine-tingling feeling shoots through me. “Why?”
“Because he...because he hurt you,” he whispers before he slams the door behind him.
Chapter 16 (Ricardo)
I slam the door behind me and lean against it.
Christ, I'd forgotten how much my little angel could be the devil herself when she wants to be.
Usually I'm fond of her claws, mostly when she's digging them into my back, and not using them to pummel me with lies involving another man just to get a rise out of me.
And now because the bitch in her got what she wanted from the asshole in me and I lost control and told her that dipshit was dead, I can no longer use him or what happened to explain why I'm keeping her here until further notice.
Then again, maybe it's best that I don't explain it at all...let her think what she wants. I know she already does and is going to anyway.
Besides, she's already seen the very thing I didn't want her to see—the monster I wanted to shield her from.
And like I predicted, she hates me even more for it, only proving Ernesto's point.
I fish my pack of cigarettes out of my pocket and light one. It's a bullshit attempt at trying to take the edge off but it's better than nothing.
There are only two things that will take the edge off long enough to have an impact.
And one of them I can't have.
I suck the smoke down my throat and smirk. Because that's not exactly true.
I know I could march right back in there and take her every which way I want to—but it wouldn't be the same thing as having her.
If I take her the way he did...the way they did...then I really am the monster she already thinks I am.
So I won't. Because although I've done
and will do many fucked up things in this world...I won't do that. And most definitely not to her.
If she ever falters and gives me an inch because she actually wants to...then I'll gladly take the fucking mile and then some—but not a moment before.
I suck my cigarette down to the filter and feel my entire body go rigid when my phone vibrates.
I hope to hell it's a message telling me that the thing I need to clear my head is waiting for me at the warehouse.
I'm not a good man, I never will be.
Especially now that my moral code is all kinds of fucked up the further down this black hole I travel and I'm making the rules up as I go lately.
But for a few fleeting moments—the moments when life is about to leave those rapists' eyes and I'm the one in control of them—and I'm the one taking something from them.
I almost feel like the hero. I almost feel like I'm correcting my mistakes and worthy of both my mother's and Lou-Lou's forgiveness.
That is until I look in the mirror...and finally see what was there all along.
I'm Bruno DeLuca's son and I have his blood pumping through my veins, feeding the darkness within me. His blood ensuring my fate—to become him.
And now I am—because the DeLuca's always win in the end.
My guts knot and my heart crushes against my chest with my next thought—I'm cursed and now I've infected everyone I care about with my poison.
And the only cure is death.
“She doesn't want to do anything until she knows why she's here,” Marlene tells me, trying her hardest to keep up with my strides. “And she's still refusing to change into anything you bought her. Heck, I don't even think she's showered in the last two days.”
I don't miss the look that passes between a few of my men and I stop dead in my tracks and give them a warning look of my own.
I will not have them or anyone else make a mockery of Lou-Lou. Although her stubbornness can test the patience of a saint and drive them to drink...and then drive off the nearest bridge.
“Marlene, I told you to look out for her well-being, not give me and the entire household a report on her hygiene. She's a grown woman.”
“But I—”
“Where is she now?”
“She,” a voice calls out, oozing with annoyance and the faintest hint of a rasp that always has me needing to adjust myself. “Is right here, asshole.”
I narrow my eyes when I take in her tiny black shorts and white see-through top with the words, 'Show 'n Tail—A Gentlemen's Club' scrawled on it.
Christ almighty, I hate that uniform...not just because of what it represents—but because of how fucking good she looks in practically nothing. Almost as good as she does in nothing at all.
But none of that compares to what I hate most about her outfit at the present moment.
The fact that the men around me aren't blind to how good she looks nearly naked either—I can tell by the way half of them are looking down at the ground and the other half up at the ceiling. Pretty much anywhere but directly at her.
She's like an eclipse—gorgeous but extremely dangerous. Because I'll kill anyone who looks at her like they're picturing her naked.
And the infamous fuck you smile she's currently giving me tells me the little temptress is enjoying every second of how much she's pissing me the fuck off.
I grunt and make my way over to her. “Unless you're planning on serving me lunch and a lap dance today, take off the uniform.”
“Tell me why you're holding me hostage and I'll consider it.”
I tip her chin up. “Nice try. You're not a hostage...a hostage wouldn't be allowed to do whatever they wanted.”
“Well in that case, I want to leave—”
“Under this roof.” I brush past her and gesture for my men to follow me. “I need to take care of business. And you need to take off that goddamn uniform like I told you to.”
I'm only a few short steps when I can sense something happening behind me.
“Well since you keep insisting, Mr. DeLuca,” Lou-Lou says, her tone taunting.
Then I feel it.
Marlene gasps and my men come to an abrupt stop when the fabric hits me smack dab in the back of my head.
I pause but don't turn around...because if I turn around—not only will my men turn around and see her naked—but I'll end up losing what little self-control I have left when it comes to her.
“Are you done?” I bark, clenching my fists, refusing to give in.
“Almost,” she says as her black bra goes sailing over my head.
And that's when I see it in my peripheral vision. Two men on either side of me are craning their necks, trying to get a better view.
Chapter 17 (Lou-Lou)
I ignore the daggers Marlene's currently glaring at me and my uncovered tits and keep my eyes pinned to the back of Ricardo's head as I slip out of my black shorts.
He's been actively avoiding me for the last two days, refusing to speak to me and refusing to respond to Marlene's requests to see me.
And most importantly...refusing to tell me why I'm still here.
Atticus can't be the reason behind it, because not only is he apparently dead now, but it just wouldn't make sense. Not enough sense to keep me prisoner, anyway.
I throw my shorts across the room at him and even though his back is still to me, I notice him subtly unbuttoning his suit jacket.
For a moment, I think he's gone mad and he's about to join me in my naked party...but then I see that two men on either side of him are almost fully turned around now, trying to get a better look at me.
And I realize my horrible mistake.
In a flash, Ricardo pulls two guns out of his waistband and Marlene screams as he raises them in the air and shoots them both in the head at the exact same time.
The rest of his men stiffen as the two bodies fall to the ground with a heavy thud and blood spills and pools all over the marble floor.
Ricardo bends down, picks up my clothing, and tosses it behind him. “Get dressed,” he barks as he continues walking. “Now.”
I reach for my shirt and clutch it against my chest. “Okay,” I whisper, hating that I'm giving in, but not wanting to be the cause of such mayhem again.
I didn't know those men...but they're dead because of me. Well, because of him...but still. Looking at a naked woman should hardly qualify as an offense that's punishable by death.
I take a deep breath and try to control the shaking that's bound to start any moment.
Marlene hands me my shorts and helps me up. “You really shouldn't have done that.”
“Yeah, no shit. Thank you, Captain obvious.”
“Would it kill you to try and be pleasant for once?” she huffs, turning red with anger. “I know you have enough issues to belong in a loony bin, but it doesn't give you the right to treat people the way you do.”
“Screw you, I'm not crazy.”
She waves a hand up and down my body, as if proving her point. “Well you're not exactly sane either, honey.”
“I just—I just want to know why he's doing this to me.”
She rolls her eyes. “Isn't it obvious?”
I shake my head, because it's really not.
“The man is in love with you. He's so in love with you that your crazy rubs off on him and makes him crazy.”
We start walking back to my bedroom. “He just shot two men in cold blood...two of his best men because they almost looked at you while you were taking off your clothes. If that's not jealousy, then I don't know what is.”
I pull my bottom lip between my teeth and think about her statement for a moment. “So you're saying I'm here because even though Atticus turned out to be a scumbag, it made Ricardo jealous enough to suddenly decide to hold me hostage?”
She opens her mouth but clamps it shut before she starts nodding wildly...like a damn bobble head. “Yes. That's it...that's exactly why you're here. Now can you just stop and try to enjoy yourself? He loves you, he wants
you, he's crazy with jealousy. Every other woman on the planet would kill to be in your position. I mean, have you seen the man? Obsessive or not, he's got a face that's nicer than heaven and a body that's hotter than hell. Who cares why he's keeping you here.”
I ignore that comment, because I know all too well just how nice Ricardo's attributes are. “I do...I care why he's keeping me here.”
She throws up her hands. “Of course you do—look, I already told you. He's jealous and he wants you for himself. And now here you are.”
“Sorry but I don't buy it.”
She looks like she wants to protest again but I walk into the bathroom, shut the door behind me, and turn on the shower.
“He let me go,” I say out loud, annoyed at the way my voice wavers with emotion. “If he wanted me, he never would have given me up...not for anything in the world.”
I drag in a low, slow breath before I march into what I now know to be his office.
Marlene told me I wasn't allowed in here, but just like everything else she says, it went in one ear and out the other.
His elbows are propped up on his desk and his brows are pinched together as he focuses his attention on the computer screen in front of him, which only pisses me off more.
I try not to notice how the first few buttons of his shirt are undone, giving me the slightest peek at his hard chest. And I really try not to notice the veins in his muscular forearms, which are showcased thanks to his rolled up sleeves.
Apparently being a mob boss gives him a good workout, because other than the black designer suits he now dons, his appearance hasn't changed one bit.
It's just everything else about him that's changed.
I prop my hand on my waist and clear my throat. Whatever he's looking at must really be interesting because Ricardo tends to notice everything in his environment.
Like the flip of a switch, his eyes zero in on me and he closes the top to his laptop.
“I guess it's not just a glitch then,” I say at the same time he says, “You changed, you look nice.”
I look down in confusion at the plain dark top and simple pair of jeans I'm wearing...I certainly wasn't dressing to impress.
